Five Years of His Lies

den by a towering palm. Franklyn' s voice was low

air, murmuring something about how

ghtly. "I don't need pity, Franklyn," she said, he

tened further. "You deserve every suc

d portfolio from inside his jacket.

mmunity arts center project. It needs

d, but her fingers already traced the co

u," Franklyn said, his voice f

t from behind the palm, my legs feeling like lead. "That's m

ly hardening. "Clara. What are you do

g a trembling finger. "That's my comm

"Heaven needs this, Clara. She's building

ntered, my voice cracking. "That projec

matic. It's just a design. And it's goi

suffocating. Heaven clutched the portfol

dripping with fake sincerity. "I'll be su

for Heaven. She passed me, her perfume

ng alone in the grand, empty driveway. The first d

felt like ice beneath my feet. I walked,

ghter. Free, joyful, utterly oblivious laug

ve years ago. "Forever," he' d pr

stood next to me on our wedding day was a

city lights blurred through the rain-streak

ld marble floor, my head hitting the g

open. Franklyn. He found me there, a

s. "Clara? What happened?" His voice was

my hair. His touch was almost tende

perfume clung to him. It was everywhere

y voice barely a whisper. M

f guilt in his eyes. "It's

g. "Business. And when business is done, you'll co

sound. "Clara, you know I

re just empty promises. I couldn't eve

. He was my husband.